


baby you got lucky

by seventhstar



Category: Yuri!!! on Ice (Anime)
Genre: Anniversary, Dom Katsuki Yuuri, Dom/sub Undertones, Domestic Bliss, Exhibitionism, Frottage, Futuristic Sex Toys That I Made Up Because I'm A Hot Mess, Katsuki Yuuri's Stamina, Masturbation, Nipple Play, Orgasm Control, Orgasm Delay/Denial, Overstimulation, Plot What Plot/Porn Without Plot, Sub Victor Nikiforov, These Tags Aren't In Order Because I Don't Have My Life Together, Vibrators, Victor Nikiforov's Lack of Stamina, YOI Lit Mag
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-08-18
Updated: 2018-08-18
Packaged: 2019-06-29 08:41:23
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,515
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15725895
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/seventhstar/pseuds/seventhstar
Summary: Yuuri has no idea how to tell Viktor that his less than exceptional stamina is hot as fuck. So he decides to show him instead, with the help of some questionable sex toys he bought on the internet. It’s a foolproof plan. Probably.[YOI Lit Mag Issue 1]





	baby you got lucky

**Author's Note:**

> I apologize for the disorganized tagging and for continuing to produce random porn instead of like...anything else

Viktor is _easy._

In retrospect, Yuuri thinks, he should have known. Viktor takes so much pleasure in other things—he revels in good food, sighs with pleasure in the hot springs, turns to jelly if Yuuri gives him a massage, stocks his bathroom with expensive face creams and his linen closet with soft fabrics—it makes perfect sense that Viktor enjoys sex. _Really_ enjoys sex. The first time they’d ever had sex, Viktor came first—they’d just been rubbing up against each other, Yuuri hadn’t been expecting it at all—and then he’d tried to apologize.

Yuuri had kissed him until he stopped. There was nothing to apologize for; it was deeply satisfying to Yuuri to know Viktor wanted him that much.

As far as Yuuri is concerned, their sex life is great. There’s nothing lacking in Viktor’s performance, or in his technique, and if Yuuri outlasts him sometimes, well, it’s fun to tease Viktor afterward, to fuck him after he’s come and to feel him squirm. Yuuri would take it even further if he could.

The problem is that Viktor is still self-conscious about it. He’s never said anything, but Yuuri’s been practicing reading all the nuances of Viktor’s expressions, trying to learn him completely (trying to avoid any more conversations where Viktor thinks he’s breaking up with him because Yuuri is an _idiot_ ). He’s seen the way Viktor sometimes starts to apologize, and then stops.

Sure, Yuuri could _say_ all of this to Viktor, but words feel inadequate. Viktor appreciates big romantic gestures. Didn’t Viktor fling himself at Yuuri at the Cup of China because he’d sucked at being reassuring earlier? When Yuuri moved to St. Petersburg, didn’t Viktor clear out half his closet for Yuuri’s clothes, buy a rice cooker and several pairs of chopsticks, and order six pillows of varying degrees of firmness so that Yuuri could have the optimal pillow arrangement on his side of the bed? It’s probably Yuuri’s turn again.

(Also, frankly, Yuuri is bad at saying things.)

So he starts doing research at night while Viktor is sleeping. He picks out a nice bottle of wine, and downloads a recipe with a sufficiently fancy name, and buys himself a tie that hopefully Viktor won’t hate. Then he starts trying to buy a cock ring.

Which is harder than Yuuri expects. He reads a lot of terrifying testimonials about fractured penises, and he’s almost at the point of giving up, or throwing aside the giant romantic gesture and using his words. They (okay, so maybe most of them are from the collection Yuuri amassed in Detroit) already have plenty of sex toys.

That’s when he gets the email.

 _Eros Inc. presents: Total Orgasm Control,_ the subject line reads. Yuuri assumes that it’s spam, someone trying to sell him cheap Viagra from Canada. But it’s slipped through the spam filter; he opens it, just in case. Maybe someone’s mistaken him for Chris and this is a sponsorship offer. There’s a link embedded in the surprisingly well-written message; against his better judgment, Yuuri opens it.

Two hours later, Yuuri emerges from the rabbit hole he’s fallen down when Viktor rolls over in his sleep. After some intense googling, he’s determined that Eros Inc. is a real company selling “intelligent and modern sexual playthings” and that Total Orgasm Control is their first offering. The listing in their online store has three reviews. All of them are ravingly positive.

Yuuri puts away his phone guiltily; he has to take Viktor to the airport in the morning, he needs to sleep. He lies down. The email probably is a scam. What Eros Inc. claims can’t be possible.

(He orders one ten minutes later. He pays a ridiculous premium for overnight shipping.)

* * *

 

The package arrives the next morning, in an unmarked cardboard box. Viktor brings it in with the paper. Yuuri, who has been taking the opportunity to avoid eating the breakfast Viktor has made—the eggs are slimy, and the toast is burnt—forces himself to put another forkful of egg in his mouth. Viktor is terrible at breakfast. One day Yuuri will tell him.

“Yuuri, what’s this?”

“Socks,” Yuuri lies, and curses inwardly. The point is to make Viktor think the package is _not_ sex-related. “Athletic socks. Ugly white athletic socks.”

“…but Mizuno just sent a box of those last week,” Viktor says. “They were black.”

“Uh.”

“Yuuri.”

“What if…we started this conversation over?”

“What is in this box?”

Yuuri blinks at him in the most coquettish way he can. It feels idiotic, but Yuuri once made Viktor skate into the boards by doing it. “Absolutely nothing.”

Viktor rattles the box. _“Nothing_ is awfully loud,” he says. He puts it down on the table by Yuuri’s plate of breakfast. Yuuri ducks his head as Viktor strokes his head absently. “Can I take Makka out or do you want me to wait?”

“Go ahead.”

 “All right. I’ll be back.”

Makkachin, because she is the smartest dog, trots over to Viktor’s side and begins trying to climb him. Viktor laughs before getting her leash. He leaves, whistling, and the moment the door closes behind him, Yuuri shoves his half-eaten breakfast aside to rip the box open.

On top is the receipt; the rest of the contents are wrapped in bubble wrap. Yuuri folds up the receipt and hides it in one of his books from Japan for safekeeping (there is zero chance he will remember where he put it, so he hopes he doesn’t have to return it). Then he tears the bubblewrap apart until he unearths the contents. They’re innocuous enough. There’s a smaller box inside containing six grey patches emblazoned with the Eros Inc. logo (what looks like a winged butt), as well as what looks like a key fob for a fancy car and the instruction manual.

Yuuri checks for any tears or cracks or other signs of damage, then shoves it all up in the box. He tapes it back up. Hiding places in their apartment are hard to find: Viktor has every square of it tightly organized to accommodate the combined detritus of both their lives, rather than just his own. He checks their closet, and the linen closet, and the closet in the spare room, all of which contain what appears to be the entire inventory of storage solutions from Ikea, and finally gives up. He opens up the box again and empties the contents into a gravy boat that’s still in the packaging. Why does Viktor own this? When will they ever need this gravy boat? Never. No one will ever look here.

There’s barking in the hallway, then the jangle of keys as Viktor returns. Yuuri slams the closet door shut.

“Yuuri, are you ready? We have to head out!”

“Coming!”

Yuuri gets Viktor’s magenta luggage—he needs two bags for a three day trip—and before long they’re on their way to the airport. Yuuri asks five times if Viktor has his passport, and wonders out loud if they’re going to be late even though it’s an Aeroflot flight and will almost certainly be delayed. Yuuri has a lot of annoying travel anxiety.

“Are you sure you don’t want to come with me?” Viktor asks. “It’s Paris.”

“I promised Lilia I would help her,” Yuuri lies. He has to put together his big romantic gesture, and it’ll be easier when Viktor isn’t there. (As soon as Viktor is gone, Yuuri is going to get McDonalds and lie around dipping fries in mayo in his underwear. Viktor will never have to know. Maybe Yuuri can start eating fries in front of him after the wedding, ease him into it slowly once it’s too late for him to escape.)

“Bye,” Viktor says.

He and Yuuri hug for an inappropriately long time before Viktor tears himself away. The porter helping with their luggage appears to be judging him. Yuuri tips him what is too much money before he departs. When Yuuri gets home Viktor has texted him a picture of himself at his gate, which is the kind of unreasonable request Yuuri would never have made but that Viktor understands he needs.

“All right,” Yuuri says, once he’s in his boxers and has popped open a fresh jar of mayo. “Romance. I can do this.”

He hopes.

* * *

 

“Okay, so if I don’t call you in an hour, I might be dead.”

There’s silence on the other end of the line. Finally, Phichit says, “Is Viktor there?”

“No, he’s out of town.”

“Can you wait to do whatever you’re doing until he comes back? You clearly need adult supervision.”

“The whole point is that I want to test this before I use it on him.”

“Use what on him? Did you buy one of those giant dildos that’s shaped like Cthulu’s dick?”

“What? No. It’s, uh.” Yuuri swallows heavily and then tells him. He can hear Phichit typing in the background. “Are you looking it up?”

“This seems questionable.”

“Can you just call the police if I die?”

“Fine. But if it works you have to call right back and tell me about it.”

“Deal.”

Now that he’s made sure his body will be found before Makkachin starts eating it, Yuuri gets the gravy boat out of the closet. He strips down in the living room—he doesn’t want to die in bed—and then takes a deep breath. First things first. The instruction manual.

“Apply the patch to the skin near but not on the genitals. This can include the groin or the thigh, as well as the buttocks.” Yuuri reads as he squints at the diagram, which has all the relevant areas of the human body shaded in red. “Okay.” He opens the plastic packaging and peels the backing off of the patch; it sticks easily onto bare skin just above his dick. “Activate the patch by pressing the red button on the master switch.” He retrieves the master switch, which is a black plastic disc with two buttons on it, and presses down on the red button. Once pressed, it glows. “Once the patch is active, orgasm cannot be achieved. To turn the patch off, press the red button again. To induce orgasm, press the green button…”

It seems simple enough. The rest of the manual is safety instructions, including checking for skin reactions to the patch and going to the doctor if you have a persistent erection for more than four hours. Yuuri lies back on the floor, a throw pillow under his head, and drags a hand down his bare chest, over his stomach, down the inside of his thigh.

What is Viktor doing right now? He’s probably being bored at his photoshoot. In his dressing room, maybe, pulling his shirt over his head. Unbuttoning his pants. Standing still while fancy clothes are pinned in place on his body. Bored. Other people are looking at him, no doubt. Viktor is one of those people you can’t help but look at.

Looking is all there is, though. Yuuri strokes his cock slowly. People might admire Viktor—might watch him make eyes at the camera and mistake it for interest—might imagine him undressing after the shoot and wish they could slide the shirt down over his arms to expose the line of Viktor’s spine.

But Viktor is _his._ If Yuuri was there—

If Yuuri was there.

He’d go with Viktor into his dressing room. Yuuri thumbs at his slit, spreading precome over the head. He’d lock the door behind them and shove Viktor against the wall, whisper into his ear that he was his. Viktor would pretend to protest, arms around Yuuri’s neck, whispering that he had to go back out there, that there wasn’t time.

“Yuuri,” Viktor would say, all breathless just the way Yuuri likes, “Don’t mess up my outfit—I have to give this back—everyone will know—”

“Shh,” Yuuri would whisper, thigh shoved between Viktor’s legs. “Quiet.”

And Viktor would try not to come, even as he got hard and wet as Yuuri ground against him—he’d bite his lip to keep quiet—Yuuri would kiss him—he’d come, eyes closed, right there in Yuuri’s arms while there were people waiting on him to perform for them—

Yuuri drags his fist up his cock, groaning. He’s right there on the edge, so close, like he could come. He imagines Viktor again, on his knees in the dressing room with his mouth open, touches himself. He’s so _close._ And it’s not happening.

“Fuck,” Yuuri says in disbelief. He picks up the master switch. He presses the red button until the light turns off.

Then he presses the green button. His vision whites out for a second, his cock twitching as pleasure shoots through every nerve like he’s been struck by lightning, and come splatters in thick white strands all over his stomach. The switch slips from his fingers to the carpet.

Yuuri lies there for a few seconds, dazed, getting his bearings. He fumbles for the towel lying beside him and wipes himself down. Then he grabs his phone.

To Phichit: _still alive and it WORKS_

And to Viktor: _hey what are you doing_

 

_at the shoot_  
_bored without you  
_ _< 3_

_miss you_

_miss you too :)  
_ _what are you doing_

_nothing much  
_ _come home soon_

Grinning to himself, Yuuri carefully packs everything back up in the gravy boat. All he needs now is to buy the ingredients for dinner. Operation: Large Romantic Gesture is going to be a success. Probably.

* * *

 

“…and then I heard the most amazing piece of music in the waiting room, so I started choreographing my short program.”

“What’s it about?”

“You.”

“Can I see?”

“Of course.”

Viktor pushes his chair back and walks into the living room. He stops in the center, hands above his head, and then dances—a spin, the beginnings of a step sequence, a tiny jump. He’s graceful, even constrained in the small space, hair flying. Yuuri nearly gets up to go to his side, but the moment has passed. Viktor comes back.

“It’s beautiful.”

“It’s hardly anything, yet,” Viktor says carelessly. “But it will be beautiful when I’m done.”

“Everything you do is beautiful,” Yuuri says. “And I promise to help you with it. Even if we don’t have a waterfall, I’ll bring a bucket of water to pour on your head.”

Viktor laughs. There’s lobster in his teeth, which is weirdly endearing. As they eat, and banter, Yuuri just watches him: his Viktor. Viktor is the only person Yuuri has ever met who eats his toast with nothing on it. Just plain bread. Yuuri has no idea how anyone can eat dry toast, but he’s accepted this, just as he’s accepted that Viktor hates touching dirty dishes if they’re wet and can’t always outlast Yuuri in bed. Tiny things like this about Viktor are always Yuuri’s favorite; he’s obsessed with the fine print of Viktor’s personality, the minute details that he only can uncover with proximity.

This date is going shockingly well, considering. Yuuri’s lobster thermidor is a little runny, and his brie and cherry tarts a little burnt, but Viktor makes no complaint about the quality of the food or about the fact that Yuuri kicked him out of the house for three hours while he was cooking. Through some truly Machiavellian engineering, Yuuri had even gotten Viktor to sit down to dinner in jeans and a tshirt. What? Viktor’s ninety layers of formal wear look good, but Yuuri cannot deal with trying to remove them when he’s nervous.

Viktor polishes off the last of his tart, licking away the last crumb of brie from the corner of his mouth.

Yuuri braces himself. Romantic dinner, check. Romantic dessert, check. Wine, check. Time for him to say the right things.

“So,” he says. “I bought you a present.”

“What is it?”

“It’s, uh. It’s kind of…I thought you might like it. Because sometimes you…I mean, I tested it on myself first.”

“…is it socks?” Viktor asks.

“Why would I have to test socks on myself?” Yuuri wipes his forehead with his sleeve. “What kind of socks would _even—_ do you remember how we wanted to do that thing?”

Viktor blinks. “Wait, is this why you were googling cock rings?”

“How did you know?”

“You were in bed next to me. Was it a secret?”

“No, it’s not a cock ring, I’m not risking your dick getting fractured.” Yuuri sees the expression on Viktor’s face and barrels on. “It’s something else. Probably better if I show you.”

Yuuri’s already set up the bedroom. ‘Set up’ is kind of overstating it; all Yuuri’s done is move their sex toy basket onto the nightstand and set out some towels. The gravy boat is sitting beside the basket. In retrospect, Yuuri thinks, he should have taken the Total Orgasm Control out of the gravy boat. The gravy boat is not hot.

Words have not served Yuuri well so far, so he sits Viktor down on the edge of the bed and hands him the instruction manual. Viktor’s eyebrows nearly jump off his head—which is impressive, considering how much forehead he has—as he reads. Yuuri sits down beside him, trying to gage the perfect distance: not so close as to be pushy, not so far as to be unsupportive.

“This is real?”

“I tested it a couple times.” Yuuri flushes as Viktor just looks at him. “Maybe three. Fine, it was five.”

“Is this what you do when I’m not here?”

“I had to be sure it worked!”

“And the _other_ four times?”

“You weren’t here.” Yuuri leans in so that his lips are touching Viktor’s ear. “I got lonely.”

Viktor turns to kiss him, fast enough to catch Yuuri off balance. He buries his fingers in the back of Yuuri’s  hair—hair that’s gotten too long and that Yuuri hasn’t yet cut precisely because he likes Viktor to pull it—slips a finger inside Yuuri’s tie to pull it loose. Yuuri seizes the back of Viktor’s shirt to pull him close. He still tastes faintly of cherry tart. He kisses Yuuri with all the enthusiasm he applied to dessert.

“You do this on purpose,” Viktor says breathlessly, as he unknots Yuuri’s tie with one hand. “You wear ugly ties—you know I have to take them off you—”

“Are you kidding me, I just bought that tie for tonight—”

The tie, along with Yuuri’s shirt, ends up on the floor. Yuuri shoves Viktor’s shirt up under his arms until he raises them long enough for Yuuri to pull it off him. He pushes Viktor onto his back; Viktor tips his head back obediently to let Yuuri kiss down his neck. The mattress squeaks as Yuuri worries a bruise against the pulse in Viktor’s throat, as Viktor’s hands slide down his back to pull down his slacks.

Something rips. Yuuri ignores it; if Viktor’s ruined the suit Yuuri will just have to suffer through another round of Olympic-level shopping until Viktor finds him a replacement. Even as Viktor tries to get him undressed, Yuuri gropes at his chest, rolling one of Viktor’s nipples between his fingers. It hardens under his touch, and Yuuri feels Viktor shudder under him as he pinches it hard.

“Yuuri—”

He can feel the bulge between Viktor’s legs rubbing against him. Yuuri lets his leg slide between Viktor’s thighs, lets Viktor feel the weight of it—Viktor’s nails dig sharply into his back—as Yuuri puts his mouth in the hollow of Viktor’s throat—

“Yuuri, stop, I’ll—”

Reluctantly, Yuuri eases off. He cups Viktor’s face in his hand, smiling. “Already?”

“Sorry,” Viktor whispers. He’s blushing.

“You want to try?”

“Let’s.”

Yuuri rolls off of Viktor; he fumbles off the rest of his clothing before grabbing the basket of sex things sitting on the nightstand. Viktor’s stripped as well when he turns back around. Draped bonelessly over the covers, legs spread, Viktor trails a hand down his torso, fingertips coming to a stop just above his erection.

“Where do you want me?” he asks.

Yuuri settles himself against the headboard and opens his thighs. Viktor settles himself between them, back nestled against Yuuri’s off-season belly. There’s something luxurious about Viktor’s body, something more than the fact that Viktor is astoundingly handsome, like someone cut him from marble. It’s in the way Viktor spoils himself, with fancy manicures and sweet-smelling lotions and soft fabrics. Viktor takes care to protect himself, from injury and sunburn and getting chapped by the wind.

But he lets Yuuri do whatever he wants with him, always.

Yuuri sticks one of the dull grey patches to the inside of Viktor’s thigh. It goes on easily, but he still spends too long rubbing over it to make sure it sticks.

Then he picks up the master switch, and holding it where Viktor can see, presses the red button.

Viktor shivers.

Yuuri takes a pair of tiny bullet vibrators out of the basket, along with a roll of bright blue bondage tape. He circles Viktor’s nipple for a few moments with a fingertip he wets in his mouth before switching on the toy. He rubs it in spirals over Viktor’s pectoral. Viktor tenses, breath hitching, lip caught between his teeth. Here, like everywhere else, Viktor is more sensitive than Yuuri would ever have dreamed.

“Hold this?” He guides Viktor’s hand so that he’s holding the vibrator against his nipple. Viktor makes a soft noise of surprise at the sensation, but he keeps it pressed in place. Yuuri picks up the tape; the sound of it tearing is very loud in the silence.

With Viktor’s help, Yuuri affixes both toys to Viktor’s chest, placing them just under the point of each nipple. He smooths down the edges of the tape; it makes a lovely contrast against Viktor’s flushed skin. Viktor’s upper body musculature is frankly ridiculous, considering he has to lift all that weight every time he jumps.

“You like it?”

“That…” Viktor sighs. He trails pale fingers over his ribs lightly, following the flush on his chest down.  “...feels really good.” He starts to reach between his legs, and Yuuri catches his hands in his own and holds them over his stomach. He runs his thumb over Viktor’s ring; Viktor runs his thumb over Yuuri’s ring.

There’s a clock on the wall; Yuuri watches the hand counting the seconds tick and tries to guess how minutes Viktor will endure before he starts trying to coax Yuuri into touching him. If Yuuri were generous, he’d say five.

Viktor lasts three.

Yuuri strokes the back of Viktor’s hand as he squirms in Yuuri’s lap. The slide of his skin against Yuuri’s cock is distracting; he’s tempted to throw Viktor down and rut against him until Yuuri’s satisfied. _Not yet,_ Yuuri thinks, but he lets go of Viktor’s hands. He passes Viktor the lube instead, watching as Viktor takes two pumps into his palm, so eagerly that he knocks the bottle over.

He smears it slowly down his cock, using just two fingers at first. The tip of Viktor’s cock is already wet; there are drops of precome on the covers between his thighs. Viktor slicks the head of his cock up first, then drags his hand back up until his whole cock glistens.

“It doesn’t feel any different.”

“Keep going,” Yuuri urges.

He kisses down the slope of Viktor’s shoulder in encouragement. Viktor, for all his flamboyance, had been embarrassed to masturbate for Yuuri the first time Yuuri had asked. _I don’t do anything special,_ he’d said, eying the toy Yuuri used lying on the nightstand behind him. _I hope you won’t be disappointed._

It doesn’t surprise Yuuri that Viktor once treated his own pleasure as perfunctory. But Yuuri could watch him get off for hours. He could watch Viktor’s expression—eyes closed, lips parted. He likes the way Viktor’s cock looks: red, long, curved to the left. He likes watching the lube smear over Viktor’s hand as he touches himself. (He likes getting impatient and throwing Viktor down so he can do it himself. Sometimes Viktor drags things out just to tease him.)

Tonight’s not one of those times. Viktor’s head drops back against Yuuri’s shoulder as he jerks off, the squelch of lube almost louder than his breathing. His hips shift under Yuuri’s hands. Viktor paws at his chest with his free hand, pressing the vibrator down against his right nipple. His foreskin slips back and forth as he pleasures himself. Yuuri’s cock is nestled between his cheeks, the friction of Viktor squirming on his lap is so good. He can see the side of Viktor’s face; he’s bright red.

“Yuuri, should I—”

“Don’t worry about it.”

He takes Viktor’s free hand in one of his own.

Viktor hisses as he eases off and strokes himself with just the heel of his hand. “Ah,” he groans.

“Does it hurt?”

“A little,” Viktor admits.

Yuuri brushes the fingertips of his free hand against Viktor’s cock. Viktor jumps. “But it feels good?”

“Yeah,” Viktor says. “Do you like it, Yuuri?”

“You have no idea.”

Yuuri laughs as he picks up the wand and switches it on. At the sound of the buzz, Viktor jumps a little; he squeezes Yuuri’s hand. They’ve played with it before, but Viktor can’t stand it—he comes immediately every time. And yet the wand does sometimes mysteriously end up lying on the bed when Yuuri knows he’s put it away.

“Do you know what I thought about when I was testing this out?” Yuuri drags the wand over the inside of Viktor’s thigh gently, just to get him used to it. “I thought about how I’d sneak into your dressing room during your shoot.”

He presses the wand just above Viktor’s cock, against the bare skin there, so close that Viktor gasps aloud.

“I thought about shoving you against the wall,” Yuuri says softly. “I thought about shoving this between your legs—” He lets the wand drop so that it’s touching Viktor’s shaft. Slowly, very slowly, he starts to rub it down Viktor’s cock, drawing small circles over his skin. “—and making you come, during one of those five minute breaks while there were people waiting for you right outside—”

“Yuuri—” It comes out strangled as Yuuri flicks the wand back and forth over the tip of Viktor’s cock.

Viktor opens his mouth to speak, but nothing comes out but a whimper as Yuuri holds the wand against the sensitive spot on the underside of his cock that Yuuri likes to lick. He slumps back against Yuuri’s chest, lips parted, and Yuuri holds him still with his free arm, pressing their locked hands against Viktor’s stomach. He lets the vibrator drop onto the bed.

Then he takes Viktor’s hand, closes his fingers around the toy, and guides him until he’s holding it against his own cock, the tip against the head and the handle flush against his shaft. Viktor makes a high-pitched, desperate noise; there are tears clinging to his lashes. But he doesn’t let go.

“Shhh,” he murmurs. Yuuri nuzzles against Viktor’s hair. He picks up Viktor’s free hand and cradles it against Viktor’s chest. He doesn’t expect an answer, but Viktor’s hand tightens in his until his blunt nails leave marks in Yuuri’s skin. He wonders what it’s like, for Viktor to make himself so helpless to Yuuri’s desires. He wonders if he’s everything Viktor needs.

Viktor is trembling against him—Yuuri shifts him so that Viktor can turn to bury his face against Yuuri’s shoulder—sweat dripping down his forehead and nose. His hand on his cock is white knuckled; the vibrator starts to slip out of place. Yuuri adjusts it, closing his hand over Viktor’s.

“Viktor—” Yuuri shudders as Viktor bites him, hard enough that Yuuri’s going to have an impressive bruise. “You done?”

“Please.”

“All right.” Yuuri eases Viktor down onto the bed, then switches off the vibrator. He tosses it aside.

Viktor is limp across the covers; he reaches up to touch Yuuri’s cheek with one pale hand. Yuuri seizes it, puts his mouth to the inside of Viktor’s wrist before sinking down onto the bed beside him. He takes Viktor into his arms, until their hips are locked together and Viktor’s arms are around his neck.

“You want me to get you off?” Yuuri asks. He’s lying on the master switch; he digs it out from under himself.

Viktor shakes his head. “You go first.”

Yuuri hesitates—on one hand, Viktor’s cock is slotted up against his and it would be delicious just to thrust against him until he came, but on the other, Viktor has tear tracks on his cheeks—then nods.

He presses himself against Viktor, skin on skin, as close as two people can intertwine without becoming one person altogether. They kiss. Viktor’s lip is swollen where he’s bitten it; Yuuri sucks it into his mouth, soothing it with his tongue. Yuuri gropes at Viktor’s chest, feeling the swell of muscle with one hand, pressing the vibrator against his nipple with his palm. There’s a sting across his back as Viktor clings to him. And there, between them, is Yuuri’s cock pressed against Viktor’s. He reaches down, slicks himself up using the lube on Viktor’s cock.

The sound of Viktor’s breathing is harsh.

“Viktor,” Yuuri says, dazed by the look in Viktor’s eyes.

He ruts against Viktor shamelessly. Viktor is warm and hard and thrusts back against him weakly; the friction of his skin against Yuuri’s cock, the pounding of his pulse against Yuuri’s body, the way Viktor’s lips part when Yuuri muffles his own cry of pleasure against his mouth—it’s overwhelming. Yuuri finishes over him, a hot white mess across Viktor’s stomach and thighs.

“Please,” Viktor says. Yuuri brushes the hair stuck to his face away before peeling away the tape on his chest. He picks up the master switch again and holds down the red button until the light turns off. “Yuuri. I _want_ it.”

“Okay,” Yuuri says. He straddles Viktor’s thighs, holds his free hand down against the bed with his own. Then he presses the green button.

Viktor shrieks something that might be Yuuri’s name—comes all over Yuuri’s stomach—trembles under Yuuri like an earthquake. Yuuri gives him three seconds to recover, gasping, and then presses the button again.

“Oh—oh, fuck—” Viktor’s softening cock twitches. He’s holding onto Yuuri’s hand so hard it hurts; his other hand is tangled in the covers. “Ah—”

Yuuri presses the green button one last time, holding it down, counting off in his head five seconds. Then he throws the switch aside and collapses across Viktor’s body, heedless of the sticky mess they’re making. Viktor’s eyes are closed, his entire body boneless but for his death grip on Yuuri’s hand.

He cups Viktor’s cheek in his hand. “You’re so beautiful,” he says, and is rewarded by Viktor blinking at him, long and slow, before he smiles.

* * *

 

After Yuuri has cleaned them up, and the cover has been changed (Yuuri wonders sometimes if other people have back up linens at all times so they can ruin the ones on the bed with sex), he curls up beneath the blanket with Viktor. They lie facing each other like two parentheses, hands clasped between them.

“That was exciting,” Viktor whispers.

“Yeah,” Yuuri says. “I thought maybe you would like it.”

“You’re so smart, Yuuri.”

“Sometimes you seem kind of embarrassed,” Yuuri says. “You know. After you come.”

“Do I,” Viktor says with deliberate casualness. “You must be imagining it.”

Viktor is so obviously lying. This man makes a career out of performing and he can’t even look Yuuri in the eye without giving himself away. _I used to be intimidated by him,_ Yuuri thinks. _Ridiculous. Adorable. I’m going to marry him._

“Viktor.”

“Maybe I’m a little embarrassed,” Viktor mumbles. “Since you looked up to me. People always imagine—”

He trails off, but Yuuri can guess what it is people imagine. He imagined plenty of things like it before, and has wrestled with shame over it. But the reality of Viktor compared to the fantasy is like a hot summer day compared to a photograph of one.

“Viktor, you know I wouldn’t change anything about you, right?”

“Not one thing?”

“Well,” Yuuri pretends to think, “Maybe I’d make you put butter on your toast.”

“I like the crunch.”

“That’s the worst thing I’ve ever heard.”

He rests his forehead against Viktor’s; this close, he can see the striations in Viktor’s eyes.

“I want you to have everything you want.”

“I do.”

They stay in bed that way, faces and hands and legs all touching. Viktor’s scent and his breathing and his hand in Yuuri’s have become indispensable, too quickly. Yuuri can barely remember sleeping alone. He can barely remember how to fall asleep when Viktor’s not there beside him.

As he drifts off, he thinks that if Viktor’s tiny smile as he falls asleep is any measure of it, his grand romantic gesture was a complete success.

**Author's Note:**

> This was my contribution to Issue 1 on YOI Lit Mag! You can check out the litmag here, at [here](https://yoilitmag.tumblr.com/tagged/yoilitmag)


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